


Trekerella

by Hades_the_Blingking



Series: Space: The Final Funtier [5]
Category: Cinderella - Fandom, Star Trek, Star Trek Movies, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: A Giant Plant, Chekov's werewolf slave, Cinderella - Freeform, Crossdressing, Demon Spock, Fun, Humor, Humour, I'll explain some refs in the notes, Jaegerbomb Tuesday is still going strong, Jim's OP smoulder, Jim's hair is Cult Worshipped, Jim's hair is a bit too perfect, M/M, Marriage?, Mccoy cries so much, Mccoy is the Ultimate wingman, Mccoy's sass disintegrates someone, Mills and Bones, Mistakes, Onions, Scotty has way too much fun, Scotty's garbage chute of doom, Spock stares down a wall, Star Trek - Freeform, Sulu is the happiest squish in the world, Sulu what are you doing, TOS but could be AOS, an unholy river of tartan, bitchy Spock, chemically corroded pineapple dress, creepy robot computer is creepy, existential rooster, eyebrow witchcraft, for fun, homoerotic tension, how is Jim so good in high heels, i can't really explain, inner voices, just have a laugh y'all, mccoy rolls his eyes so hard he sees another dimension, not a good enough excuse to say 'penetrated', sassy vulcan ho, so many mistakes, so much tension, someone should really stop it, spock has to save Jim from Mccoy, that fangirl nobody wants to be prey to, the attack of the fangirl, the plague of tags again, war flashbacks to the yellow turtleneck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:44:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hades_the_Blingking/pseuds/Hades_the_Blingking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing is ever normal on the U.S.S Enterprise. Even a simple Ambassador mission is not as simple as it seems. An obsessed young fangirl tries to kidnap the Captain, Mccoy finds reasons to cry (probably alcoholic) tears, Spock's bitch levels are about to reach an all time high, Sulu makes leaps and bounds in science, but a fairy tale ending is far from their sights. Buckle up for a laugh on the weirdest ship in the fleet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jim Gets Married and Harry Mudd is to Blame for Everything

**Jim Gets Married and Harry Mudd is to Blame for Everything**

Ella lay down beside her man-sized pillow of James T Kirk and looked up at hundreds of holographs of James T Kirk’s smoulder decorating her walls and ceiling. She ran a loving finger along the cheek of the James T Kirk on her t-shirt and then pulled her James T Kirk scrapbook out from underneath her bed. The authentically signed (or so the black market Ferengi trader had said) James T Kirk picture at the side of her bed seemed to wink at her as she flicked through the hunky, hot, gorgeous, drool-worthy Captain’s childhood photographs. Ella was going to marry him. Yes, he had his ship… but he was going to see her and how beautiful and smart she was….he’d fall in love with her…he’d sweep her off her feet…he’d give up the Enterprise, everything, to heroically save her life, pull her into his bulging, somehow oiled arms and propose to her. They’d have matching rings with sentences that completed each other. Ella had studied every holotape of him to make sure she could finish his sentences. Mrs Ella R Kirk. _Mrs Ella R Kirk._ She squirmed in a kind of psychotic delusion at the thought of having his name. Mmmm….they’d have two children – a son: James T. Kirk Jnr, and a daughter, Jamie R. Kirk… But if he didn’t fall head over heels in love with her at first sight (which was extemely unlikely!), Ella had a back-up plan. Oh yes, she’d saved up every credit to buy it from that trader called Mudd with the moustache who said he’d _actually met James T Kirk!!!!_ He’d even let her (for a high, but totally reasonable price) touch his hand that had actually touched the Captain of the Enterprise!!! Ella had almost fainted! Yes, the thing she’d bought was a teeeeeensy bit illegal, but James T Kirk…..Jim...he’d understand. He’d be so happy with her. The poor girl sighed, ignorant to the fact that a pair of efficient and murderous Vulcan eyebrows would most likely kill her before she got her wish.  
  
“Elllllaaa!” Her ‘important’ Ambassador mother yelled from downstairs.  
“Yes Muuuuuum??” Ella stashed her scrapbook and man-sized James T. Kirk pillow beneath her bed again, flipped her signed picture around to a bland family photo and changed her holographs of The Smoulder to peaceful nature as her mum’s boots trip-trapped up the stairs. She had just turned her shirt inside out to a non-suspicious, vague, band logo, when her mother knocked.  
“Come in!” One day she’d be saying that to James T Kirk as he knocked on her study-room door in their eternal honeymoon suite. Mmmm.  
“Ella honey. Starfleet just contacted me with a mission on Esteban Julio Ricardo Montoya de la Rosa Ramirez Three.” Ella’s mother sat in the desk chair that resided over the floorboard that secretly concealed thousands of pictures of naked, photoshopped James T Kirk. “You know your dad is stuck on Starbase 400 due to that ion storm, and Aunty Caljen took off to gods know where last week.”  
“Don’t tell me I have to come on another one of your missions! I’m eighteen!” Ella sighed. How was she ever going to perfect her plans to make James T. Kirk fall in love with her if she was being dragged all over the star system??  
“You don’t have to! But this time we’d be on a real Starship, with some really interesting people and opportunities.” Mrs Cindy sighed. “You’d get to meet a real Starship Captain – Kirk, I think his name is, and his Vulcan First Officer – “  
“I’ll go!”  
  
The hunger and sheer psychotic eagerness in Ella’s eyes almost made Mrs Cindy regret everything. But then again, it was nice to see her daughter being enthusiastic about something other than staying in her room and practising what sounded suspiciously like accepting marriage proposals.  
“Well get packing, honey! We leave at 1500hrs.”

***

Scotty belting out ‘Here Comes the Bride’ on the bagpipes snapped Jim back to his current situation. There he was, all decked in dress uniform, blissfully unaware of his teenage stalker, waiting for his blushing beauty. Sulu came skipping down the aisle first, eyeshadow on point as always. Flower seeds flew from his hand, out on to the grassy aisle. They immediately began to bloom. Jim Kirk sighed like the flower-loving nerd he was and his eyes wandered to the congregation. His brother, Sam, whom Mccoy had brought back to life for the occasion with a holy bitchslap, gave him the thumbs up. Speaking of Mccoy, the good Doctor was right beside him crying tears of pure medicinal brandy. Oh what a happy occasion.  
A vision of white silk and chiffon glided down the aisle towards him with Uhura and Nurse Chapel as beaming bridesmaids in tow. The veil lifted up and…there was his demure Vulcan. Somebody had put a delicate amount of green blusher on his cheeks, and it just made him look divine.  
“As Captain of the Enterprise, with the power vested in me, I hereby marry myself to Commander Spock.” He beamed up at his Science Officer. “We may now kiss.”

 

The Yeoman who had once given the Captain a back massage on the bridge, buzzed to enter Jim’s quarters. The Earth Ambassador headed for somewhere called Esteban Julio Ricardo Montoya de la Rosa Ramirez Three was going to board in an hour, and the Captain needed this newly cleaned dress uniform the Yeoman bore.  
The brunette had been quite proud of the noises she’d massaged out of that pillar of authority until she’d realized he thought it was Commander Spock. Typical. She got the ship with the young hottie Captain but he was begging for his _Vulcan_ First Officer to ‘push, push hard’ into him. Needless to say, she’d filed her bet with the CMO that they’d be dating in a couple of months.  
From the dead silence, it sounded like Captain Kirk had taken one of Mccoy’s Comatose-Your-Bros Sleeping Pills. Those were a step up from the Make-Yo-Peeps-Sleep Pills, but not quite at Indefinitely-Suspend-Your-Friend Pill level. Nobody knew why or when Mccoy would use those pills, but they all knew that was a day to be feared.  
Taking strength from the fact that she was a redshirt and not yet dead, the young lady stepped into her Captain’s quarters. The Yeoman had never been in the Captain’s room before, and took advantage of Jim Kirk’s doctor-assisted coma to look around. A book was proudly displayed in a cubby-hole… _’Doctor Sexy’s Finger Fiasco and the Virgin Romulan.’_ Maybe she had been wrong about the Captain and the Commander -  
  
“Mmmm, Spock, Spock…” A shirtless Jim Kirk moaned from the sleeping area. If he wore shirts, his unguarded nipples always managed to free themselves by morning. “We’re not…mmmm…on honeymoon yet…yes Spock it is an illogical name….mmm..well, there could be a moon and honey…..”  
….wow. The Yeoman decided to leave before he started mumbling about glow-in-the-dark, triple Vulcan anatomy or whatever Mr Spock possessed. She also decided to raise her bet by 100 credits.

***

Why Mccoy had been invited to attend a damn-diddly welcome dinner for some Ambassador was beyond him. He was a doctor, not a receptionist. Well, at least it wasn’t a Commodore, he supposed. They always managed to screw everything up by driving into Romulan territory or feeding the Enterprise to a giant space robot monster. Just usual Commodore activities.  
  
Looked like he was a little early, but it was better than arguing whether Vulcan reproductive organs glowed in the dark with Doctor M’Benga. If Mccoy went another three lifetimes without the mental image of whatever junk was in Spock’s trunk, it’d be too soon. It could be a tiny pitchfork for all the good doctor cared.  
Oh, it looked like the Ambassador’s daughter was early too. She seemed to be wearing something that was a cross between a pineapple and delicately sprinkled corrosive chemicals. Seriously, what the hell did space do to people? Well, looking at his sanity, Mccoy probably had a large chance of being dressed as a pineapple by the end of these five years. Unless Sulu actually turned him into a pineapple. Sometimes Mccoy worried about that kid.  
“Hello, my dear.” The CMO gave a her a friendly nod, but didn’t flick on the ol’ rustic Georgian charm. She was far too young and seemed to be a liiiittle too into the Captain, what having clutched at his handshake like Scotty had once clutched at his chest as he ‘died’ of happiness. On that note, if Spock’s eyes had possessed the same demonic power as his eyebrows at that particular hand-clutching moment, this lady would be dead. Obviously those famed Vulcan peepers couldn’t see the little appreciative glances the Captain was giving his Science Officer in dress uniform. Goodamnit those kiddos were hopeless.  
“Hello.” She nodded and picked up her bag. Something shiny caught Mccoy’s eye. To be fair, Mccoy wasn’t generally attracted to shiny objects. But this one looked suspiciously like a bomb. Very much like a bomb in fact. Looked like someone was going to try and blow up the Ambassador. With an eternal sigh, Mccoy leaped forward and grabbed the device. His sacred hands downgraded themselves back to mythological after making the mistake of accidentally pushing a button.  
“No, no, wait – “  
  
But Mccoy was already out the door, headed for the garbage chute. Hopefully it wasn’t clogged up with crying Ensigns again. The doctor got a glimpse of Jim, Sulu and Scotty’s bewildered faces before a flash of white lit up his vision and he saw no more.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love it if you'd tell me what you think! c:  
> Duly note that I looked up pictures of fan-decorated 1D bedrooms for Ella. She frightens me.  
> Doctor Sexy's finger fiasco is explained in Spock in Wonderland :P  
> Scotty 'died of happiness' in I, Mudd.  
> Hope y'all are going to enjoy this next installment of fun! c:


	2. Chapter 2

**Reasons Why Doctor Mccoy Cries**

The sun rose, a serene ball of gas and flame over a 1697 French town. A rooster screamed – the bright light always gave this particular bird a fright, as it was unexpected and quite literally, a giant ball of fire. The rooster, in fact, believed that this was the same fiery evil that took his hens and gave their cooked carcasses back to the humans. One day he would have revenge. But not today. Today we move on from the rooster and his existential crisis, back to the story.  
Doctor Mccoy woke up in a scullery maid’s dress beside the fireplace, a poker in one hand and a feather duster in the other. Oh no. Not like this. Looked like Spock was getting revenge for all those times Mccoy had teased the Vulcan about the maid outfit debacle. Or Jaegerbomb Tuesday had finally gone horrendously, inevitably, but not suprisingly wrong.  
“What in all good Heaven?” Mccoy sat up like the confused Southern transvestite he was and looked about.  
“Cindy!! Cindy Cinderellaaaa!?”  
Oh great, it sounded like a herd of elephants were stampeding down the stairs. Two hideous ladies and what could have been either their mother or a Gorn swept into the wherever-the-hell-he-was.  
  
“Oh Cinderella, you poor unfortunate child.” The Gorn lady sniped. “With all these chores to do, you’ll never get to the ball on time!”  
“Stupid Cindy!” The monstrosity on her left crowed and tipped some water on the doctor. They obviously had no sense of self-preservation. Mccoy stood, brandished the poker, and allowed his eyebrow to compete for the Space Olympic gold in the high jump.  
“Listen y’all gaudy cows, if you don’t tell me what the hell is goin on, I’m gonna shove this here poker so far your asses that I’ll be able to surgically remove what little you’ve got left for brains with it.”  
  
A stunned silence did a wild salsa through the room and out the back door.  
“W-well, we’ve all been invited to the ball.” Ugly No. 1 stammered.  
“What goddamned ball?” An angry Doctor Mccoy in a maid’s outfit, brandishing a fire poker with medically incapacitating intent was not to be messed with. The sisters and mother exchanged looks.  
“You know, the Prince of the land needs a bride! So he invited all the ladies of the land along.” Ugly No. 2 said with understandable nerves.  
That Romulan-slaying eyebrow darkened. “And tell me, do I remotely look like a ‘lady of the land’ to you?”  
  
Another silence decided to waltz in, took a look at the manic, involuntary transvestite, and waltzed back out again.  
“Errrr….yes..?” They all leaned back, as though expecting to get a poker up the ass upon the event of a wrong answer. Well, it looked like he was in some sort of Cinderella mashup. All he’d ever wanted to do was to heal some space-happy idiots, but noooo, here he was prancing about in a French dress, God knew where, with a what looked like some Gorn-human halfbreeds. Final Frontier, more like the Final Straw.  
“And, pray tell, what does the prince look like?” If his instinct was correct, the doctor was probably going to flip a corseted tit. Mccoy had that privilege. If Jim-boy flipped a tit, the entire Universe would probably end.  
“He’s so dreamy…” One lady sighed. “He’s got the most perfect hair, and a big chest that you could just…bury yourself in…”  
“And let me guess, a smile that’d melt butter.” Mccoy’s tit did his medically-prescribed flip as the good doctor’s eyes rolled so ferociously that he actually saw his own brain for a second there.  
“Yes! But I doubt you can come Cinderella, no matter how handsome the prince is!” The mother who should never have bred scolded somewhat nervously.  
“Seriously?” Now both of Mccoy’s eyebrows would have won the facial hair Olympics. “You three know that kiddo’s in love with a pointy-eared jack-rabbit Vulcan, don’t you?”  
“We have no idea what you’re talking about. Now scurry on back to work, you little rat, and if you get your chores done, you can come to the ball – if you can find a dress!” The loose definition of a woman (in Mccoy’s medical opinion)cackled.  
“Yeah, well why don’t ya’ll scurry on back to Hell where you belong. I ain’t got time for you or your hoedowns.” The maid-doctor turned and paced out into the dining room. One of the Ugly Sisters spontaneously combusted from the sheer sass of Doctor Mccoy. They were just lucky Spock wasn’t there. 

 

The CMO of the U.S.S Enterprise looked around the manor house. Having found not an item of male clothing anywhere, the good doctor accepted his cross-dressing fate. This had to be a simulation, a hologram like their previous Alice in Wonderland adventure, or some sort of weird space glitch.  
Well, at least he knew where Jim was. Mccoy gave the kitchen mantle an absent-minded dust. Dammit, he was going to have to go after that kid, wasn’t he? Which mean…oh lord, he’d have to go to the ball.   
  
Swearing to himself that if Jim recounted the event of Bones the blushing ball beauty to _anyone_ (especially Spock) he’d use those Indefinitely Suspend Your Friend pills, the good doctor recalled his fairy tales. How had Cinderella booty-called that fairy godmother? Because he’d be damned if he knew the way to the castle and even more damned if he showed up in rags. Mccoy was a doctor, not a fashion disaster. Hmmm……oh no. Crying. Doctor Mccoy hadn’t cried since the last time he’d run out of medicinal brandy 30 years back. Well, he was a doctor, wasn’t he? Mccoy contemplated the best way to medically induce eye-leakage, and then spotted a stereotypical string of French onions on the wall. Perfect. With one surgical chop from a hallowed hand, the doctor released the stinging chemicals upon his eyeballs, very much like Sulu had released the bees upon the Romulans that one time. The effect was Mccoy bursting into what could have been tears, or a constant stream of a new alcoholic beverage pouring from his eyes. Whatever it was, he prayed to Jim Kirk’s perfect hair that it worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this gave you a giggle! c: If it did, why not leave a comment or some kudos n.n  
> For Spock in a maid's outfit, check out Spock in Wonderland (first of this series)  
> For my novel, check out this [ link ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)! n.n  
> Thanks for reading, and the next update should be soon!


	3. Jim's Hair is Worshipped and Spock becomes Satanic

**Jim’s Hair is Worshipped and Spock Becomes Satanic**

“Get up! Get out of bed, you lazy boy!”  
James T Kirk snapped out of the ‘honey’ part of his post-nuptual dream saga that involved pointed ears and logical flirting.  
“Mmm, what?” The bold potato many called Captain blinked awake. A bearded man was leaning over him as he lay in… silk (?) sheets. Was this another dream? If the bearded man had been Spock, it may well have been. But no, this gentleman looked human and quite rotund. Jim’s sleep-addled brain suddenly wondered whether there was a fat Spock in another universe. He chuckled to himself like someone high off Sulu and Chekov’s Gourd Spirit fumes and sat up.  
“Today’s the day, son! Today’s the day we find you a bride!” The large man proclaimed. He had a Harry MuddTM Moustache. Either an elderly Harry Mudd had kidnapped Jim and was trying to sell him a wife, or something even stranger was going on.  
“I don’t want a wife, sir.” The shirtless blonde rubbed his dainty eyes as the memory of Spock in a wedding gown danced before them. Where was he? Was he even in the same Universe and dimension?  
  
The last thing he’d seen was Mccoy diving for the garbage chute. Why the good doctor deemed it necessary to hurl himself into the trash, Jim didn’t know. Only shamed Ensigns and Yeomen willingly dived in there. Of course, Scotty often threw out Engineering crew who failed to clean the engines (his wee baerns) after their shift, but with an offering of Scotch and lightly toasted haggis, they were accepted back onto the team. It was unnerving sometimes, when an arm proffering Scotch and haggis thrust out of a random Enterprise garbage chute, but whatever kept the boat afloat (and spick and span).  
“Too bad, Charming! You’re not getting any younger and you and the kingdom need an heir!” The man pulled Jim up. Rude. He was only thirty four.  
“Listen here, I’m not giving anyone an heir! Now I demand to know where I am and what you have done with my ship and crew!” And why his half naked self was being tended to by what looked like Harry Mudd’s father.  
“Blast it, boy, you’re not in the navy! You’re the prince of this Kingdom, and you have your duties. Now, hup you get, or Rene will throw you out of bed!”  
“Prince of the…” Jim looked around. Polished marble walls bounced his smoulder across the room. Oh no. It was not safe to amplify The Smoulder. Jim toned it down to the same look he’d worn when he’d been buried in hundreds of tribbles. Sigh. It looked like this was going to be a long day.

 

Jim Kirk never had much luck with being a prince. The first time, his Science Officer had been stabbed and comatosed. This time he had an aged Harry Mudd (who Jim had learned was the King, his apparent father) trying to pawn him off to a woman. Well, the last princely episode had ended up with him kissing Spock, so maybe somehow that yummy Vulcan would swirl through the ballroom doors in dress uniform, or a ballgown, or….well, anything really. Spock was a drop-dead, ravishing-eyebrow beauty in anything. Except that hideous yellow turtleneck. A solitary tear of pain ran down the Captain’s face at the thought of that terrible mistake. No wonder Gary Mitchell had tried to kill them all.

After clearing his mind of that overall messy and unfashionable situation, Jim managed to slip past a couple of guards and into somewhere that looked vaguely clerical…what were they called? A monkery? No, a monastry, that was it.  
“Oh brothers, behold!” A band of monks rounded the corner on Jim. A sacred light seemed to shine in the leader’s eyes. “The One of Holy Hair! The Divine Locks hath descended from yon clouds, as was prophesized in the beginning!”  
All the brothers sank to their knees chanting: “Grant unto us curls everlasting, strength of root and strand, whole ends that split neither left nor right.”  
  
They removed their hoods and revealed hairstyles suspiciously similar to his own. “If we are worthy, bless our scalps with a crown of perfect gold, so that they may say in the street – ‘Yea! There goeth the Brotherhood of The Hair!’”  
“Brothers, brothers!” The Captain wished for a moment that Spock was there so they could share a bemused side-eye. “Er…have you ever met the prince of the land?”  
“Nay, oh Lord of the Shimmering Locks! Our eyes art bound skyward in hope of beholding thine Glory! Our hands are caught up in brushing and combing! Our lips are entangled in thine praise, oh Golden King!” The lead monk cried and prostrated himself upon the stone tiles.  
“There’s no need to do that, brother!” Jim Kirk helped the older man up. “Listen, will you allow me to have one of those robes?”  
The monk looked positively awed to be touched by him. “Yea! Brother L’Oreal! Bestow upon our Split-end Saviour a robe!”  
“And so it shall be done!” Brother L’Oreal removed his hooded outfit, and bowed low as he presented it .  
“Thank you very much, gentlemen.” Jim gave a smile that had once re-heated his coffee for him.  
“Yea, and behold! The Smoulder of Healing and Destruction!” The monks all bowed again. Jim had been a robot’s mother, Captain America, the Queen of Hearts, a ball of Russian anger, an old, senile man, but he had never had a cult entirely dedicated to the worship of his hair. There had been the memory-loss incident with the American Indian colony where they thought he was a god. But that had ended up with him almost being stoned to death. Not something the Captain really wanted to repeat.  
“As a gift for your help – “ He reached up and tugged out a couple of hairs. “Here, brother.”  
Tears began to run down the face of the old man as he took the strands with shaking fingers. “My Lord, you are not only beautiful, but thou art kind beyond description. These shall be sacred artifacts to last all stretches of time.”  
“Goodbye, friends.” The Captain slipped the hood over his head and set off toward the marketplace and the gates.  
  
A little angelic Mccoy appeared upon the Captain’s shoulder. His little wings fluttered sarcastically.  
“Jim. Was that really in the Prime Directive?”  
There was a poof and a satanic Spock materialized, pitchfork, tail and all. “For all we know, Captain, this entire situation is not real. It would be highly illogical for a human civilization to be this far out and be so industrially weak. It is even less logical for that society to know about you and your hair.”  
“Shut it, you devil-eared alien!” Mccoy’s halo pulsed threateningly. “The people he’s met are flesh and blood! The objects he’s touched are there, as sure as you and me are here.”  
“That is a highly illogical argument, as both you and I are figments of the Captain’s imagination.” Satan Spock raised a hellish eyebrow. “However, without tricorder readings, tangibility will be impossible to determine.”  
“Tricorder my ass.” The tiny, very very grumpy angel harrumphed. “Jim, you touched those people, didn’t you? They felt warm and alive; like normal human beings?”  
“Yes, yes they did.” The Captain muttered and reminded himself that maybe a medical check was in order.  
“Certain wavelengths and mental stimulants can make one believe that an object is there when it is, in fact, void.” Spock twirled his pitchfork with a seemingly prehensile, demonic tail. “Or perhaps an entire setting – this castle, village – was created to deceive you and the people are merely acting a prescribed part.”  
“Oh, come on Spock, now who’s being illogical?” Mccoy played a twanging, Southern jig on his harp.  
“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Jim sighed to the figments of his imagination. Wow, he was lonely. “I don’t have a tricorder, nor do I have the ship. The best I can do is try to find some sort of material to construct a radio beacon with.”  
As if on cue, a blacksmith’s hammer rang through the market.  
  
“Good luck, Jim. If ya need me, I’ll be sipping gin on a cloud somewhere.” And with that, Angel Mccoy disappeared in a spray of feathers.  
“I too, must take my leave, Captain. May I suggest a tripole antennae and with an amplifier circuit or external amplifier system, in order to broadcast further.” And, in a whoosh of flame, Jim’s logical little demon was gone too.  
“Thanks.” Jim sighed hopelessly and looked around. Constructing a radio was one thing, but in what looked like the 1600’s? For the second time that day, Jim wished the real Spock was there. But he had to do what he had to do.  
Suddenly, a familiar face flashed past as the eternally-oiled Jim Kirk strode through the market place. He backtracked and looked around. He could have sworn he’d seen Sulu…with a cow?  
  
“Sulu!” He set off at a jog. “Hikaru Sulu! Helmsman!”  
Jim’s hood snagged on a hanging basket and the sun caught his gloriously perfect hair, making it shine like a beacon of hope and joy.  
“Is that the Prince?” A lady giggled and covered her mouth.  
“Oh my Lord, it is!” Another lady scrambled forward. “Oh Prince Charming, please accept my favour!”  
She hurled a handkerchief at him.  
“Oh and mine!”  
“And mine!” Hundreds of handkerchiefs flew from all directions.  
“Can I touch your hand, Prince Charming?” His hand was grabbed in two strangely powerful ones.  
“Ravish me, your Highness!” That one was a bit too keen.  
“Can I get you a drink, my Lord?”  
“No, I’ll get you a drink!”  
“Me, I offered first!”  
  
“My Prince, you should know better than to wander into the market!” Several knights had obviously seen his plight and come to his rescue. Who was the damsel in distress now?  
“Y-yes, indeed.” Jim sighed as they led a horse over.  
“Come, we shall escort you home.”  
“Alright, but I have an order for the blacksmith first.” He sighed as the sun began to dwindle and wondered how he was going to report all of this in his ship’s log.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim's life is never boring, it has to be said :P  
> if you had a laugh, why not give it a kudos or tell me what you enjoyed!  
> Stay cool y'all


	4. Scotty Can Finally Work Miracles

**Scotty Can Finally Work Miracles**

While Captain James T Kirk was being worshipped by the Monks of the Hairy Order and rescued by knights from ladies, Mccoy was crying into a bowl of onions.  
He was so busy trying to figure out whether his tears were actually alcoholic that he didn’t notice the haze of glitter out in the courtyard. Only when the household dog nudged him, did the transvestite doctor look up.  
“Holy cow, it actually worked.” Mccoy sniffled in amazement. The sparkling cloud swished and swirled, and in a shower of stardust appeared Chief Engineer Scotty. He had little fairy wings, a wand and a motherly tartan robe.  
“Doctor Mccoy! What the Devil are ye cryin’ for?” Not quite the soothing Fairy Godmother, but Mccoy was just glad to see a fellow officer.  
“Damn bowl of onions, that’s why.” The doctor lifted the bowl with streaming eyes. “And you? I’ve never seen you appear in a cloud of sparkles before, Scotty.”  
“I didne choose to!” The Scots-Fairy exclaimed in a haughty manner. “There I was, mindin’ me own business – in fact we were comin’ t’ dinner with the lovely Ambassador – an’ ye came a-flyin’ out the room like the wind under a kilt. Then ‘poof’! I’m here with a pair o’ wings, a wee wand and some sorta crime against tartan.”  
The Engineer looked down at the Snugee he was wearing. “Can’t a man have a bit-a dignity?”  
“You’re talking!” The good doctor gave him a twirl. “I’m decked out like a dame and there ain’t a trouser leg or plain shirt to be found in the house. But I’m dead certain the Captain’s up at that there castle.”  
“Oh, then we’d better get to him, doctor. ” The Fairy Scotsmother lifted his wand. “I’ll see what I can do fer ye.”  
“Now hang on a minute Scotty – “  
  
POOF! A pumpkin in the garden suddenly morphed into a nifty-looking hovercraft.  
“Look-a that! I _can_ perform miracles! She’ll go at 110 miles per hour if ye push her. Leather interior, 8250 RPM and an eco-drive.” The Engineer wiped a proud tear from his eye.  
“And I thought it was goin’ to be a carriage.” Mccoy sighed. “Well, it’ll certainly get me home before midnight.”  
“Oh aye, it’ll do that just fine Mccoy. But make sure ye are!” The hovering, sparkling Scottish man studied him. “Now I cannae send ye to a ball lookin’ like that laddy.”  
“If you could conjure up a Starfleet uniform, a suit, anything before Spock sees me and makes me pay for the rest of my unfortunate life.” Where was that pointy-eared hobgoblin anyway? If Jim went missing, his little Vulcan usually tracked him down like a starved bloodhound. Little did he know.  
“I’ll give it me best shot.” The Chief Engineer raised his wand, flicked his wrist and POOF! There Mccoy was, standing in the most dazzling ballgown the two men had ever laid eyes on. A pair of glass slippers materialized on Mccoy’s Men’s Size 15 foot. “Er, sorry doctor, let me give that another wee go.”  
  
Another flick and POOF! A beautiful blonde wig and a face of make-up adorned the CMO.  
“Er, sorry Mccoy, but it looks like I can only do girly things.” Scotty just thanked Jim’s perfect hair that the doctor was nowhere near his hyposprays. “But…on the bright side, I’ve ne’er seen ye look… prettier!”  
Scotty finished and hoped he wouldn’t be slain by one of Mccoy’s perfectly tweezed and highlighted eyebrows.  
“Well, I suppose we’ve gotta go along with the fairytale.” The CMO flicked his ringlets and stepped into his massively overpowered hovercraft. “See you on the other side, Scotty.”  
“Have fun at the ball, doctor!” Scotty grinned a disappeared into a shower of glitter.  
With that, Mccoy put his glass-slippered foot down on the pedal and whizzed off towards the palace.

Halfway there, the drag-queen doctor just happened to look toward the side of the road and… saw something very strange. It was pitch black – only the light of his hovercraft headlights gave him a glimpse of it, if what he saw was real. It looked like Sulu…crouching and digging a hole in a vegetable garden. Mccoy suddenly had a flashback to a previous Jaegerbomb Tuesday aftermath, where he, Chekov and the Captain had followed a suspicious trail of dirt from Sulu’s cabin to the greenhouses. There they had found the helmsman, neck deep in soil, with a note stuck to his face saying ‘I have planted myself to become one with the plants. Please water me 5 times a day and feed me 3 times a day, and hopefully I shall be a fruitful plant.’ But hey, weirder things had happened. Just look at him now: Doctor Mccoy, CMO of the Starfleet flagship, driving to a 1600’s ball in a hovercraft whilst wearing a gown to outdo all gowns.

***

Jim Kirk had spent his last six hours in his room, trying to slap together something that vaguely resembled a radio. He’d just got around to trying to fixing the antennae on to his little creation that probably would have made Mr Spock have a proud little scientific emotion, had the Vulcan been there, when the King sent in about twenty guards to make sure he’d get ready for the ball.  
Now the Captain was standing on the welcome mat, shaking the hand of each lady who passed through the doors. He smiled and was – well, charming – to all of them, but Jim certainly wasn’t in the mood to get married. Not to say the ladies weren’t beautiful, but they just weren’t…  
“That’s all of them, my leige. I hope one of them took your fancy.” The doorman bowed and began to close the door. Took his fancy? It should be the girl’s choice as well! Feminist Jim Kirk’s jaw tightened, but it was no use taking this up with the doorman.  
“Wait!” A sharp, Southern, crow-like call split the night. It was music to Jim’s ears.  
“Bones?” He could hardly believe it! And then Bones stepped into the light and Jim really, uh, really couldn’t believe it. The good doctor had tumbling blonde hair and eyeshadow so good that Sulu might have done it. What the Devil??  
“Bones? No, I’m Cinderella.” The medic gave a wonderful curtsy, and Jim led him into the room.  
“Of course, ah, Cinderella.” He gave the doorman a smoulder and pulled the CMO into a dance.  
  
“Careful, Jim! I ain’t a whizz in heels, unlike you.” Bones griped in a stage whisper.That sculpted eyebrow did a little dance of its own. Mccoy and Spock had spent many, many hours rifling through Jim’s personal history to find out where that kid had learned to prance like a pony in heels. There hadn’t been a single word about it in all the records.  
“Something for you to work on then.” Jim perfected the smarmy little shite smoulder and blinked at the alcoholic fumes surrounding Mccoy. “Bones, have you been drinking on the job?”  
“Only my own tears Jim. Only my own tears.”  
When Mccoy didn’t elaborate, the princely potato pressed on. “What… happened to you anyway?”  
“Don’t look at me. This was Scotty.” Bones gestured to the wig and dress.  
“Scotty? Scotty’s here too?” They swayed across the floor. The other ladies, including Mrs Gorn and spawn, stared in blatant jealousy. Who was she? Who was this….strange-looking damsel who had stolen the Prince’s heart?  
“Yeah, he was my fairy godmother.” The doctor cracked a smile at the thought of the Engineer with fairy wings. “You shoulda seen him, Jim.”  
“I’m sorry I missed it.” The Captain couldn’t help a smile either. In the background, the King almost had a happiness hernia at the sight of the smiling couple. Several girls’ eyes literally turned green with jealousy. The prince and lady walked out onto the balcony.  
  
“Jim, I swear I saw Sulu just outside the palace.” Both Starfleet Officers studied the stars, and Jim sighed. Out there somewhere was Spock and the Enterprise.  
“Yes, I thought I saw him in the marketplace, but I couldn’t get to him.” Looked like they were in the Lelibye System. Two star systems across from where the Enterprise was headed. But Jim’s gaze was snapped away from the stars like Spock had once snapped and slapped him across a table as the ground began to shake. Mccoy seemed unable to control his high heels, and fell against Jim.  
“Ooh, hold me prince.” Came the sarcastic grumble and the doctor stared out into the darkness. “What in all Hell was that – whoop!”  
Mccoy lurched forward as a clock chimed in the distance. “Looks like these shoes’ve gotta mind of their own!”  
“Bones, wait!” Jim tried to catch that legendary, medicinal arm, but the shoes were too quick. The doctor raced out of there like fifty crates of Andorian whisky were out of the palace doors. The only thing left behind was one, Men’s size 15 glass slipper.  
  
“Get the shoe, get the shoe!” The King cried as what sound like a motor revved in the distance. “We must find the Prince’s maiden!”  
So much for Spock being the belle of the ball. Jim sighed and resigned himself to calibrating a radio for the night.


	5. The Bitchy Vulcan and The Ecstatic Botanist

**The Bitchy Vulcan and The Ecstatic Botanist**  
  


An incredibly loud Enterprise-music jumpscare brings us back to the flagship careening through space at Warp 7.

“I am sorry Meester Spock, but I don’t understand vhy ve are goink to de Lelibye system!” The top-dog Russian, whose omega werewolf buddy had just served him coffee made from their own tears, queried.  
“I did not ask you to understand, Mister Chekov.” The Vulcan, who was unknowingly and progressively becoming more bitchy in the absence of the Captain, replied. Spock’s Jim Senses wailed like almost every annoying child the Vulcan had ever been in the vicinity of when he looked at that system. “However, we came in contact with the Ramirez system and they are searching their quadrants for Captain Kirk, Chief Engineer Scott, Doctor Mccoy and Lieutenant-Commander Sulu. The only other star system in the near vicinity that has any M-Class planets is the Lelibye system. It has two such planets and only one contains life-forms of near-sentient capacity. Checking should be quick and the missing officers extremely easy to pick out if they are indeed there.”

Meanwhile, Ella was flipping a corrosive-chemical-spattered pineapple tit. Everything had been in its perfect place! How could that doctor have known? How could he? And…why had he taken her place? Was Doctor Mccoy in love with the Captain too? She wouldn’t blame him, but she would definitely and violently slay him in a gladiator-themed battle for his hand. Ella took out one of the hundreds of James T. Kirk photographs she had stashed throughout her luggage and clothing and began to weep into his smoulder. Then she kissed her tears away from his perfect, perfect face. If Ella had been any normal, weak psychopath, she wouldn’t have planned for this. But the (future) wife of James T. Kirk had to think ahead. Oh yes. Hands that often lifted in praise before the glory of the image of this godlike Captain grasped a hypospray. All she had to do was pray to James T Kirk’s perfect, perfect hair that the fairytale didn’t come to completion.

***

“Kommander, scanning is complete but zere are no life signs ve can pick up.” Chekov put his hammer and sickle themed coffee mug on top of his insistent werewolf slave who had knelt on all fours to become a table for the Russian master. “Howewer…dere is a rather strange readink on scanner four, sir.”  
“I find myself unable to glean enough information from your in-depth description of the anomaly, Mr Chekov, to determine what you may be referring to.” Mr Spock sighed, and the bridge crew glanced at each other in fear. The longest Captain Kirk had been missing for had been the whole asteroid ploughing into the American Indian colony incident. Seven crew members had been confined to sickbay with First Degree sass burns and two redshirts had mysteriously gone missing. It may have been eyebrow murder, they might have forgotten to get out of an airlock when they’d opened it, or they may still be lurking in the trash. The trash was often the safest place for redshirts.  
“It looks like a…. giant plant stalk, sir!” Chekov stared at his scanner in wonder. “It ees so large that it has penetrated de upper atmosphere!”  
Nobody on the bridge thought the situation was a good enough excuse to use the word ‘penetrated’.  
  
“Commander Spock!” Uhura cut through their speculation. “It should be impossible, but I’m picking up a weak radio signal. There’s nothing coming through on it, but it’s definitely there.”  
“It is not impossible, as it is obviously there.” Spock checked over her board like the (secretly) worried little space husband he was.“Isolate the source and give me the co-ordinates of its origin point.”  
“Keptin, dere is a life-form on de plant! Human!” Chekov was taking a wild stab in the dark (guided, perhaps, by a bond of Komradery), but out of the missing officers, he was pretty sure that the one climbing up the giant plant was probably Sulu. But due to their Commanding Officer descending into lost-Captain-induced bitch hell, where he was probably going to star in his own version of Vulcan Mean Girls, the young Russian kept it to himself.  
“Full magnification on the humanoid, Mr Chekov.”  
  
There on the screen, grinning like Christmas had come twice and early, was Lieutenant-Commander Sulu. He was dressed in what looked like 1600’s peasant clothing.  
“Fascinating.” Spock’s eyebrow lifted, but didn’t kill anyone today. “Engineering, have transporters stand by.”  
“Sorry Commander Spock, but the planet’s atmosphere has a high concentration of sub-atomic disrupting fission particles. Not harmful to life, but if we sent someone through the transporter, they’d be torn apart.” Brave, brave Engineer. Spock may currently be a Vulcan diva, but logic came before bitch fits any day.  
“Compensate if you can, Lieutenant. Shuttle craft bay, prepare to launch.”

 

“Well, Mr Spock, it’s all very strange down there.” Sulu took a seat in the briefing room and peered happily into a bag of what seemed to be beans. Spock’s katra gave a long, barely-controlled sigh. It showed briefly on his features as a fleeting eye-roll.  
“ ‘Strange’ is not a sufficient report, Mr Sulu.”  
“Well, I woke up on a farm, got told by a woman who thought she was my mother to sell a cow at a marketplace…then, as I was walking to the castle, I heard two ladies – or Gorn half-breeds, I’m not sure – mention something about a, uuh, ‘Cinderella’ behaving badly. I then went to the market place and sold my cow for these beans.” Sulu shook his drawstring bag happily. “You saw the beanstalk down there! They grow like nothing I’ve ever seen!”  
“We have no doubts about your enthusiasm for flora, Mr Sulu. However, my main concern is the missing Captain and officers.” Not even Spock’s very (very) unemotional state of sarcasm could cut through the botanist’s plant-happy euphoria.  
“Well, the Captain is definitely down there. I heard him call my name in the marketplace, but then a whole pack of women kind of…well, attacked him, and before I could get to him, he was picked up by some knights who were calling him ‘prince’. There’s also a shielding system around the entire area, but the beanstalk seemed able to let me through it.”  
Spock was pretty sure that the Enterprise was the only ship in the fleet where a report like that would actually seem feasible.  
  
“I see.” The Science Officer turned to the computer. “Computer. Analyse the last 3.82 minutes of conversation between Lieutenant-Commander Sulu and myself. Is a simulation or something similar possible within the parameters of the content of this conversation?”  
“Positive.” The creepy robot-lady voice announced. “Possible conclusions: Most likely is the Class-A black market love simulation device ‘True Love’. If the story within the simulation is completed, the being whose name has been entered into the program falls irreversibly in love with the being holding the device at the time of activation. Second most likely conclusion – “  
“Elaborate on the process and elements of this ‘True Love’ simulation.”  
“The being who is holding the device, the one whose name is entered into the program and all sentient life within a one metre radius are transported to the nearest planet suitable for their life. A hyper-realistic simulation ensues, revolving around the particular story programmed into the device. This is surrounded by a shield to inhibit indigenous life and other interferences.”  
“Well, that must be it!” Sulu exclaimed. “But if it is…”  
“Then if we do not stop it, our Captain will fall irreversibly in love with Doctor Mccoy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bringing these back because I feel sad and these make me happy. Would love to know what you think, so cheer me up by leaving a comment <3


	6. James T Kirk’s One True Love is Revealed

**James T Kirk’s One True Love is Revealed**

The last thing James T Kirk expected to see after a long night of medieval radio construction was Lieutenant-Commander Sulu waving at him from a giant beanstalk. Jim had been hauled out of bed to ‘find the maiden of his dreams’, and had been riding along with the Captain’s women-deterring knights when the helmsman and his beanstalk had encroached on his life.  
“Captain!”  
“Sulu!”  
  
It wasn’t quite a Chariots of Fire reunion, but after what had happened to Mccoy and apparently Scotty, the Captain was quite glad to see Sulu and his fantastic eyeshadow game seemingly unaffected by whatever was going on.  
“Sir, you have to come back to the ship immediately! If you finish the story, you’ll fall in love with Doctor Mccoy!” Sulu tossed him a communicator and a phaser.  
“I’ll…fall in love with Doctor Mccoy.” Jim sighed and nodded. Well of course. He should have known. “So I just…go up there, do I?”  
“If we climb up high enough, the Enterprise can land a shuttlecraft on one of the upper leaves.” Sulu patted his giant plant with tears of pride in his eyes. First a giant space foil, now a giant plant…Sulu was getting quite an impressive CV.  
“What about Mccoy and Scotty?” The Captain dismounted, barreled through his knights like a humanoid cannonball and scrambled into the vertical foliage in a vision of beauty and grace.  
“If Mr Spock’s calculations are correct, the simulation should finish in a couple of hours and they’ll be returned.” They both started climbing before Harry Mudd Snr could lasso them from his horse.  
“Simulation?”  
The satanic Spock appeared in a fizz of brimstone on Jim’s shoulder. “I believe my estimates were correct then, Captain.”  
Angel Mccoy materialized in a whiff of gin. “I can’t help – hic – that I don’t think like a cold, emotionless, computer-hic-ized – “  
“Gentlemen, it’s sorted.” The Captain muttered to his tiny, imaginary officers. Demon Spock just lifted a sassy eyebrow, and the divine Mccoy had to duck to avoid being burned by its power. The doctor then took a swig from a bottle labelled Holy Water and disappeared. Jim’s Vulcan devil just gave the Captain a deadpan wink and vanished as well.

***

Mccoy had a sinking feeling of dread as he began to materialize in the same corridor he’d vanished from. Not just the customary feeling of dread that the transporter system would reconstruct him with an arm on his face or nipple eyeballs or whatever, but that a certain smarmy Vulcan would just be _waiting_ for him. Sure enough, there was Spock and his nerdy bowl-cut. A sharp, pointy eyebrow almost embedded itself in the ceiling like a throwing knife. Jim had the common sense to only look mildly amused, as he’d been through the whole corset ordeal too.  
“You are looking…well, doctor. The simulation must obviously have a transporter system that transcends the sub-atomic fission in this atmosphere.” That pointy-eared bastard was trying so, so hard to hide a smirk. But he just might have well been trying to conceal the loveheart eyes he often gave the Captain. “I did not know that Georgian doctors had an enthusiasm for wearing dresses.”  
Scotty appeared in an unholy river of fleecy tartan.  
  
“Well – “ The most sassy comeback Doctor Mccoy had ever conceived was sadly interrupted by a flying girl in a chemically damaged pineapple, who tackled the Captain to the ground and stabbed him in the neck with a hypospray. She then pressed her lips against Jim’s. Dear God, what were kids learning in schools these days?  
  
With one swift, extremely homoerotic move, Spock flung the Ambassador’s daughter off the Captain. She gave a surprised and offended yelp as she landed on her ass.  
“Mmm…Ella.” Jim blinked and smacked his lips, like he’d just been fed a tasty noodle. “Ella, my love, where are you?”  
“Move you emotionless freak, he wants me!” Ella tried push past the Vulcan, but was stopped before she could even touch his inferior ‘Science blue’ shirt by a hand that had Mills and Boons novels written about it.  
“You say anythin’ to Commander Spock like that again and I’ll throw you in the brig myself, young lady.” Only Mccoy was allowed to insult Spock like that. It was how the logical, computerized know-it-all knew they were still friends. Ella promptly fainted. Whoops. It seemed, with the added buff of makeup, his eyebrow had just been a little too powerful.  
“Mccoy, shouldn’t ye be tendin’ to the Captain?”  
“Captain!” Spock took Jim by both shoulders and stared into his hazel eyes. Nope. No help needed there.  
“Jim.” The very not gay, no homo Vulcan murmured. Jim’s glazed gaze wandered over that logical face and then fixed on his First Officer’s eyes. The glaze snapped back into focus. It became a non-glazed gaze between gays.  
“Spock…” The Captain breathed and caught hold of Spock’s bicep. Mccoy got the urge to smoosh their faces together again, like when he’d smooshed them to wake Spock up from a coma. “Spock.”  
  
Dear god, Mccoy could almost see the lovehearts glittering in Jim’s eyes. Scotty just sighed and nodded at the doctor’s tangible matchmaking frustration that was dancing a polka on the prone body of Ella.  
“Captain, are you quite alright?” Spock’s unnecessary touching was apparently very ‘logical’ as he helped Jim to his feet.  
“Yes, thank you Mr Spock.” Space husband number one dusted off his yellow shirt and rubbed his neck where he’d been hypo-stabbed. “Bones, what did she do to me?”  
“Do I look like I have my med-kit, Jim?” The good doctor shook out his cleaning-maid gown, as if a spray of tricorders might fly out. “All I know is that she stabbed you with some kinda love drug.”  
“Love drug? Then what cured it?”  
  
Scotty and Mccoy shared a knowing side-eye. How in all Hell was the doctor meant to explain that Jim’s enormous, yet repressed homosexual love for his Vulcan First Officer had cured it, like it cured practically anything and everything?  
“Probably your one true love, Captain!” Mccoy grinned and could almost hear Spock’s hypothalamus trying to keep his heart rate down. It was almost cute that they thought they were being subtle.  
“My…one true love Mccoy?” The Captain shot an extremely obvious (yet almost hopeful) side eye at Spock and then tried to cover it up by side-eyeing Scotty too.  
“The Enterprise of course!” Isn’t that what they’d always called it? Doctor Mccoy’s spirit rolled its eyes up so high that they touched Heaven and saw the Afterlife. Ooh, you got seduced by Elasian tears, but Spock had rampant eye-sex with you and you’re fine again. What cured you without any explanation? Oh yes, the ‘Enterprise’. Been drugged by space plants and you’re cured! But not because you were angry that Spock’d spend the rest of his life being taken advantage of by some creepy predator woman, oh no. No, it was definitely the ‘Enterprise’. Mccoy knew Jim’d argue that ‘he couldn’t be the last one to leave the ship’ but he’d seen that little, sad puppy when Spock was in the arms of that girl. Oh yes. The ‘Enterprise’ sure did fix a lot.  
“Indeed, Captain. You have a remarkable loyalty to your vessel.” They should really make that Vulcan play poker. Not that Mccoy often dished out the compliments, but Spock had a great pokerface.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ft. my fave sentence: non-glazed gaze between gays  
> Uh. Have you noticed though that every time it's 'the Enterprise' it's low key Spock ay.  
> Anyhoo, leave a comment to tell me what you think if you like, I always love to know your fav bits of my crazy tale! ♥♥


	7. The Strangest Conviction Evidence in Starfleet History

**The Strangest Conviction Evidence in Starfleet History**

“Captain, we conducted a search of Miss Ella’s quarters, and have found some quite conclusive evidence that she was the culprit for your abduction, sir.” A redshirt who had somehow avoided death and the trash announced as he entered the Captain’s quarters. He beheld somewhat fondly the novel _‘Doctor Sexy’s Finger Fiasco and the Virgin Romulan’_ on shelf. The Captain had given him a copy when he’d first transferred aboard the Enterprise as consolation for being a redshirt, and he kept it under his pillow for good luck.  
“Present your compelling evidence, Mr Ulfrid.” As of the return of Kirk, Spock had ascended from his bitchy Pit. They were all safe from burns for now.

Mr Ulfric’s wife, a stoic, red-shirt lady, followed her husband into the room with a rather large box.  
“Er…sirs, is this off the record?” Mr Ulfric swallowed and quite reasonably questioned his decision to don a red shirt.  
“Evidence for a kidnapping can hardly be off the record, Mr Ulfric.” Captain Kirk smiled and gestured toward the box. “Mr Spock, if you would be so kind.”  
Spock looked as if he was on the verge of saying kindness was not in his emotionless, Vulcan nature, but the First Officer remembered he had found his Jim and did not need to be a testy sass-ho anymore.  
The redshirt looked mortified when the logical Mr Spock approached the box, but evidence was evidence, he supposed. Jim just smiled, oblivious to the true terror of his teenage stalker.  
“They are photographs of you, Captain.” Mr Spock shuffled through them.  
“Oh?” Jim gave him a little flirty smoulder.  
“We went into Miss Cindy’s room. She insisted that she had been taken over by some alien entity and none of this was her fault. Miss Cindy also told us that she was an Ambassador’s daughter and that we had no right to be in there… but when she picked up her suitcase, it snapped open and… just hundreds and hundreds of photographs of you, sir, poured out.” Ulfric shuddered at the memory and prayed to Jim Kirk’s perfect hair that the Vulcan didn’t shuffle through _all_ of - 

Mr Spock suddenly stopped, and his eyebrow kissed his hair in a brief but passionate meeting. He began to shuffle a little more quickly, but Jim Kirk didn’t miss the wonderful tinge of green creeping along his cheeks and pointed ears.  
“What is it Mr Spock?” Starfleet’s golden boy wandered over to his First Officer and almost rested his chin on that Vulcan shoulder, but remembered two other crew members were present. One day he’d be able to cuddle Mr Spock. And on that day, he’d be the happiest little squish in the galaxy.  
“Nothing worth reporting, Captain, only that the evidence is indeed conclusive of Miss Cindy’s…obsession. And may I say, they are not all correct in their content.” His First Officer stacked the images and went to put them back in the box.  
“Oh no you don’t Mr Spock, let me have a look.” Jim smouldered and tugged the pile out of Spock’s hands. He always got this nice little zing of adrenaline, even pleasure when he touched those Vulcan fingers. “Well, these aren’t so bad – “  
And there was a photograph of him buck naked. Or his face, he should say, with another man’s body edited onto it. Many of them had ‘Future Husband James T. Kirk’ written on them in either red glitter pen or Telibyte blood. Judging from Ella’s character, it could be either. Spock was staring at the wall as if he were trying to burn two Vulcan-eyebrow shaped holes into it. If he carried on the way he was going, he would probably succeed.

Other people might have found photographs like this offensive, but being the ball of sunshine he was, Jim Kirk just thought it was utterly hilarious.  
“I see.” He flicked through again, only to find more. These were definitely enough to make a Vulcan blush. “Well, I swear on my honour as Captain that these – at least the more indecent parts – are not of me.”  
“I believe you Captain.” The smell of burning wall garnished Spock’s statement. If Spock’s green tinge progressed any further, he was going to be fluorescent.  
“And how would you know, Mr Spock?” If the expression Jim had just sent his Science Officer had been directed at a human, their reproductive organs would have exploded from excitement. Luckily Spock was only half-human.  
“It is not in your nature to publish images like this of yourself. It would be illogical to assume that any of those images are legitimate.” Spock stopped practising eyebrow witchcraft. The Vulcan obviously had not heard about the Jaegerbomb Tuesday incident where Mccoy had stopped Jim from sending Starfleet 300 alternating dick pics. Or that one, accidental ass pic that Starfleet still, to this day, thought was a strange, celestial body. But nobody talked about the events of Jaegerbomb Tuesday. Nobody could. “They also do not have your hands. If you will excuse me sir.”  
And with that, the lean alien whisked out like a tornado of carefully concealed sexual frustration. Jim Kirk just stared happily at his hands and plopped the photos back into the box.  
“I’ll take care of these, and I would be grateful if you didn’t mention this to the rest of the crew.” He chuckled nodded at Ulfric and Ulfric’s wife. “Oh, and see to it that Miss Cindy has the proper disciplinary action – four to eight weeks at a farming colony should do the trick. She’ll get outside, get some fresh air and build some character.”  
“Of course, sir.” The two redshirts thanked their lucky stars that only the wall had singed, eyebrow imprints on it and left.

Jim looked at his hands again. It was a bit odd that Spock had mentioned his hands, instead of his highly recognizable, aggressive nipples or something similar, but it made him feel all warm inside. Maybe he’d subtly show them off to the Vulcan a bit more. Jim realized he was wearing a dopey smile and pruned it back to his resting smoulder. He then hit the comm button.  
“Sulu, have Mr Chekov set a course back to Esteban Julio Ricardo Montoya de la Rosa Ramirez Three, ahead Warp Factor four.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That finishes Trekerella, but I don't think I'm done with the series yet! So stay tuned for more with the Partyship Enterguys :D Thanks everybody for all your amazing comments and kudos, I'm so glad you all like this insanity 8) LLAP amigos! \\\//_  
> (bad attempt at Vulcan hand salute emoji)


End file.
